Southeast Asian Cooking
Blue soup arrived for the first course, unordered
replete with surplus shards of vegetables,
shot through with the blood of the victors.
Our main course hid in rice paddies,
reminding us of the need for starch in the diet.
Next came the shells and casings; stir-fried not shaken;
enemy mines sat on the just dessert tray.
And we clinked glasses and ducked under the table
to the applause of the assembled diners,
just before the final dust-off and trip home.
Now passing through the All-American cafeteria,
we select hamburgers and tall sodas laced with regret.
At home we heat water for pots of tea
careful that it’s true British or berry —
no China Black with its taste of smoke.